


A Change of Pace

by charons_boat



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Blood, Bullying, High School AU, Hospitals, Incorrect assumptions, Injury, Learning Disabilities, M/M, RAINSTORMS, asshole friends, childhood friends to enemies to reluctant aquaintances to friends to lovers, concussion, falling, jinho doesn't really have any friends, jinho has to tutor mingyu, jock!mingyu, mingyu has dyslexia, mingyu plays football and is popular, nerd!jinho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charons_boat/pseuds/charons_boat
Summary: It'd been a long time since Jinho and Mingyu had actually, really talked to each other without insults thrown one way or the other. That's what happens when one of you gets yourself a bunch of asshole friends and the other finds themselves alone when every other childhood friend moves away.
Relationships: Jo Jinho | Jino/Kim Mingyu
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whitequeent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitequeent/gifts).



> Please tell me if I'm misrepresenting dyslexia! I projected onto jinho a lot and I have a similar shirt to him. 
> 
> Taeil is the principal btw but he's married to doyoung so :P

Tall. Kim Mingyu is nothing if not tall. Standing at over six feet tall, even still in high school, his broad shoulders and muscular, well-proportioned body make him the perfect candidate for a sports' kid. Mingyu is the star player on the football team and might as well be royalty. Everyone seems to love him, though his curly black hair and handsome face might help with his oh-so-lovable reputation. Cheerleaders are always all over him after games, and kids flock to him in the halls.

Of course, if you aren't one of the so-called popular kids, Mingyu and the rest of the team are just a bunch of oversized jerks. They work just hard enough to keep C-averages in class, but even then they cheat and pay other students to do their work for them. I'm entirely sure that if they didn't have to, none of them would be passing their classes. Who needs good grades when you can just muscle your way to a scholarship, after all? At least, that's the only thought process I can concoct to explain their poor grades beyond the fact that they just don't care about their own future enough.

Then, of course, there are the kids who see the worst side of the jocks. Kids who are too small to defend themselves, kids who are "too smart", and the ones like me: small, nerdy kids who refuse to do their homework for them. I always ask why I should do their work for them when I have enough of my own. Half the school is convinced I come from a rich family because I won't accept even $100 per assignment, but they couldn't be more wrong. I've been on free breakfast and lunch for as long as I can remember, and we only buy a few pairs of new clothes a year.

In fact, the shirt I'm wearing right now is one I've had since fifth grade. The white shirt had been really big then, and it still really didn't fit at all now. It was at least three sizes too big, but it was soft and comfortable from years of wear. They'd been given out as a Valentine's Day project. The old, red "I ♥" was nearly worn away, but you could still see where I'd written "my class" at the end. I'd then proceeded to list the name of every one of my classmates, and I still scoffed sometimes to see Mingyu's name in the skewed list as it veered away to the left. At the time, I'd thought that I was writing straight towards the end of my shirt, but sharpies on fabric apparently had a tendency to make their own paths. I'd never seen anyone wear their own shirt after that year of school, but I didn't care how embarrassing it might be; clothes were clothes, and I'm pretty sure this one is going to fit me for the rest of my life.

"Fuckin' nerd," someone sneers. I roll my eyes and keep walking, because the bell is about to ring, and class is more important than a bunch of annoying jocks. "Can't believe he's still wearing that stupid shirt. What is he, five?"

"He's certainly short enough." I know that voice is Mingyu, because no one can imitate his slight lisp the exact same way; because we'd been going to school together for almost our entire lives, and it would really be a shame if I couldn't recognize his voice. I stop and ball my hands up in the bottom of my shirt. It falls almost to my knees and is really closer to a dress than a shirt--on me, at least. I still couldn't figure out what had changed in the years between middle school and high school, because I'd once been friends with Mingyu. We hadn't been best friends, but we'd played together during recess and we'd had a few sleepovers. I turn around and glare at the overly-tall noiret.

"At least I'm not failing freshman English," I mutter, taking a quick trip from his who-knows-what size sneakers to his ruffled black hair. He probably didn't even brush it before coming to school this morning. His face goes slack for a moment before turning red as his eyebrows furrow up. He brushes past me and knocks me into the lockers, and his friends all rough me up a bit as they pass. I fix my hair with a scowl and walk into class, barely making it into my seat before the bell rings.

A long time ago, before Mingyu started sports and stopped caring about actually learning what was being taught, Mingyu and I ended up seatmates a lot. Teachers had a fail-proof method of going alphabetically by last name, and there were rarely kids between "Jo" and "Kim". Now, though, the only class we shared was a mandatory extra phys. ed. credit that we'd both ended up putting off until this year. He and his friends liked to laugh at me in that class because they could actually see how small and pale I was. They liked to call me a ghost during that class, sometimes even going so far as calling me a "child's ghost". They really only had two jokes, and they'd gotten so old by now that I could ignore them easily.

Sometimes, though, I found myself missing Mingyu as my seatmate. He'd made things interesting, for sure. He caught a lot of things thrown my way, because back then I'd been even smaller than I was now and had been an even bigger target for bullying. Mingyu had been one of those kids that stood up for everyone, no matter who they were. We hadn't been close, but he'd been a good friend. I was kind of sad, in those times that I missed sharing a desk with him, that his friendship was wasted on the friends he had now.

The day passes slowly, like it almost always does, and suddenly the woman in the front office announces over the PA system that Mingyu and I need to go to the Principal's office. I don't know what I'm supposed to be going in for--I never do, because I always forget that it's almost always my mother bringing lunch to me on the days I have lunch meetings for scholar bowl--but I feel like it's a safe assumption to say Mingyu is going in for a little talk about his grades. He sits far off on the other side of the gym, and I sit alone near the exit, so I'm out of the gym (which serves as a lunchroom during the thirty minutes we get to eat) long before Mingyu. The halls are quiet and peaceful, what with everyone else being at lunch, and I curse the other student's long legs when I hear heavy footsteps approaching. He isn't even walking that fast, is really only going about the same pace as I am.

Mingyu side-eyes me as he passes but doesn't say anything. He reaches the door first and opens it, stands there, before glancing at me and sighing. The noiret steps to the side and keeps his hold on the door handle, holding the door open for me. Mingyu is at least half a foot taller than I am, and I almost think he's going to let go of the door as I walk through; he doesn't, though, and closes it after he walks in himself. The woman behind the desk smiles and waves as she sees me. Her greeting is soft and fond, and she waves us through the door to the right of the desk, saying that, "The Principal is ready to see you now. Good luck." Mingyu doesn't say or do anything, just follows me through the door and catches it with his hand before it can close. We take a seat side-by-side in the chairs in front of Principal Kim's desk. When the Principal turns around, his fingertips are pressed together and his lips are thinned into a straight line. I've never seen him look so stern or serious in the entire time I've been at this school.

"Kim Mingyu. You are aware that your average has dropped below a C, correct," the brunet behind the desk asks. His hair has an awkward, choppy look to it that makes me think his husband must have cut it again recently. Mingyu glances at me and swallows thickly. His cheeks and ears look a little red as he nods. "You do remember that you must have at least a C-average to play sports of any kind, don't you?"

"I do, sir." Mingyu's voice is quieter than I've heard it in a while, and for once he isn't scowling at me or laughing at something his friends said. Mingyu actually looks… worried?

"Good. Jinho, I trust that you remember enough of the coursework for Mingyu's classes to be able to help him," Principal Kim says, looking at me. I blink once, twice, and then furrow my brow and stare at his desk.

"I'm sorry?"

"Jinho, you're at the top of your class. You have a perfect record, and you've always been courteous and kind as far as I've seen. I'm sure you wouldn't mind tutoring Mingyu? His parents have already agreed to pay you for your efforts." I can't find any trace of joking in the Principal's face no matter how hard I look. Still--

"Sir, you must be joking. There's no way I can--"

"And why not?" I open my mouth to give him an answer, to tell him that Kim Mingyu is a lost cause and has been since eighth grade. I open my mouth to tell the Principal that Mingyu and his friends cheat and pay their way through all their classes and that that's the reason Mingyu is failing his now and has been since we were freshmen. I open my mouth to tell Mr. Kim that I doubt Mingyu will pay attention or give it any serious effort at all, but none of it comes out, because Mingyu speaks first.

"Please."

It's quiet, and embarrassed in the way something can only be when you're asking for help you don't want to admit you need. Mingyu turns his seat towards me and folds his hands up in his lap, staring down at them for a moment. He looks back up, and I can see how desperate he really is. His eyes are shining and his lip is trembling, and all of a sudden I remember that time he asked if he could have half of the cookie my mother had given me that day. It had been my birthday, but we never celebrated mine in class because we never had the money to buy cupcakes for twenty kids. He'd taken the smaller half without being asked to when I split it, and he told me that he really liked the flavor. I remember the look on his face when I told him it was birthday cake flavor: he'd looked just like this, though at the time I'd thought it looked like someone had stolen his favorite candy from his hands. "I ate your birthday cookie," he'd whispered, sounding horrified at what he'd done. I nodded and told him that it was okay, that it was like celebrating. He'd smiled afterwards, and the incident had been forgotten.

Mingyu looks at me, right now, like his world is about to shatter into a million pieces, like I'm the only thing that could possibly hold it together. I don't know why Mingyu, infamous jock and star player of the football team, would willingly ask me to tutor him. I'm a pale, skinny nerd who always ends up the captain of the varsity scholar bowl team. I'm sure I've stopped growing and doubt I'll ever be able to actually put on any muscle; the most physical prowess I have to boast of is the fact that I can easily do full splits and fold myself in half while standing up.

But I'm the top of our class. The projected Valedictorian of our senior year, and we're still two weeks away from the end of first quarter. Most of my friends are within the teaching staff, and the rest have all moved to different schools and fallen out of touch by now. I look down at my seven year old shirt and find Mingyu's name, second from the top. I think, at the time, that I went by who I liked most. The only kid I'd liked more at the time was Jung Wooseok. He'd been a little taller than me and had skipped a grade at some point along the line, which made him the youngest kid in class. He'd been funny, though, and had been just as cute as Mingyu. Wooseok had moved away in seventh grade, though, and soon after Mingyu drifted into jock-land and everyone else moved on or away and suddenly I found myself on my own.

I look back up, and find Mingyu staring at my shirt. I can't be sure whether he's staring at his own name or someone else's, but he looks back at me and I sigh. I stand up and move around the side of the chair, holding my hand out in front of me once I'm in front of Mingyu. He looks between my outstretched hand and my face a few times, so confused it's almost painful to see.

"I'll help. You've got to pay attention and not brush it off, though, because if you do, I'll just quit. Your grades don't affect me at all, so it's on you to make sure I don't leave you stranded. Got it," I ask, trying to sound stern. A smile splits Mingyu's face and suddenly the room feels brighter. His hand is much bigger than I expected it to be, and I'm not sure I can remember ever having held his hand before. It's rough and calloused, from football and working out most likely, but it's warm and dry too, like very fine sandpaper. This is, truthfully, the happiest I've seen Kim Mingyu look almost ever, unless you were counting that time he helped a family of frogs cross the playground safely. (He'd crouched down and waddled along behind them, all the way across the blacktop, with his hands cupped around the sides of the hopping herd, and it had been a miracle that he hadn't fallen over because he'd been very clumsy back then. The smile on his face had nearly blinded me, I swear.)

"Thank you so much! I swear, I will! I'll try my hardest, Jinho-hyung!"

I didn't understand why something as useless as _football_ was so important to him, but as he ran from the office and down the hall shouting his excitement for the rest of the school to hear, I found I couldn't stop the small smile that spread across my lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, I learn that Mingyu is an A/B-straight student aside from the F in English. I still don't understand it, because apparently Mingyu is one of the only jocks who actually does his own work. He's good in math and fluctuates between B+ and A- on the regular, and he has even less trouble in Civics and the P.E. class we share. The rest of his classes he has some variation of a B in, and it really stuns me to learn that the only class giving him any trouble is a freshman level English class.

Mingyu sits in front of me and stares as I look over his last progress report; the Civics teacher has a habit of printing them out ever-so-often, I remember, and it had been something I'd liked when I took the class last year. I set the report on the table and frown before looing up at him. He's in a hoodie and ripped jeans, and his face is still flushed from the practice he just finished. Mingyu is one of the few who doesn't sweat a lot after physical activity, but even he leaves with damp hair after the long football practices. From the slight whiff of cologne I get once in a while, I'm pretty sure he knew he was likely to smell bad and had tried to cover it up. I didn't notice anything either way very much, so it was kind of a useless but almost endearing effort.

"Uhm… you actually do really well in all your classes, aside from English, which… I didn't expect, if I'm being honest. I mean, I didn't expect that it was only one class dragging you down, and I expected that it would be a lot more C's and D's. So, uh, do you have any of your past assignments from English," I ask him. He looks both put out and offended, but I don't blame him. I'd be upset if someone had said that about me, too. He shakes his head and pulls out his Chromebook.

"I didn't think about needing those. I actually, uh, usually throw those away… I just don't like seeing the scores I get on them." He's blushing now, his already red cheeks getting darker. I clear my throat and stand up, sitting down in the chair next to him and watching him pull up assignments from English. I catch a few _3/10_ and _1/10'_ s on the screen before he gets the newest one pulled up.

"Is there a reason you do so badly in English, or…"

"There is, but I can't really do anything about it. I've tried a lot of stuff, but I haven't found any way to fix it so… it doesn't really matter." He furrows his brow and opens the doc attached to the assignment. He scans over it and frowns again before turning the screen to me. "I have to explain the theme of this short story, I think. I remember this one from last year: most of my issues were with spelling, I think. Oh, and she said that my answer was wrong." I rolled my eyes and blew out an annoyed breath as I read over the assignment summary.

"I remember doing this, and I'm pretty sure I only got full points because I caught the 'right answer' when she was talking about it in class and just used that. She's bad about saying there's one right answer when any story has the potential for countless different interpretations which are all entirely valid. Anytime you have to do this for class, we can talk about what we think the theme and such is, and then I'll explain what her answer is. You mostly just have to listen to her talk, because she usually says it at some point throughout the day," I tell him. Mingyu gasps, and I glance at him with a raised brow. His eyes are wide and he looks genuinely shocked. "What?"

"But that's like… cheating, isn't it?" I scoff and shake my head.

"Does it matter that much to you? Don't you and your friends pay or force other kids to do your work for you?" Mingyu scowls and nods, scratching the nape of his neck.

"My friends do. I don't though. I do my own work, it's just that English… I think at this point, she just has a vendetta against me, to be honest." That aggrieved statement elicits an unexpected laugh from me, and Mingyu is back to being shocked again. I nod after a while and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

"She probably does. She was harsh on the other kids in my class, but she always liked me and asked a lot if she could use my work as examples."

"Yeah, she always brags about how you were one her best students," the noiret mutters. He has his chin in his hand and a sad look on his face. "I'm pretty sure she means to keep who the examples are from a secret, but when it comes to your writing she always spills that it's you. At this point, I think I have parts of your essays memorized because she uses them every year." I blush and look back at his computer, scrolling down the screen and trying to ignore Mingyu. "Wish you'd been in my hour freshman year. Maybe I wouldn't have failed that year. Instead I got stuck with the other football guys and they all cheated, and I got left behind at the end of the year because I wouldn't pay other kids to do my work for me." The way he says it doesn't sound like anything I ever expected from him. I never thought he'd speak badly about the other guys on the football team, and I look back at him.

"There are other kids in our year that are good at English. Couldn't one of them have helped you." I'm truly baffled, because surely there was someone else who would've been able to tutor him back then, or any year of English he's taken, like I am now.

"They were all too busy with other things and were burdened with doing stuff for the other guys. I didn't wanna bother them any more than they were already being bothered," he stares off into the distance, and I sigh. Mingyu, like this, feels like an entirely different person than the one I've become used to. This isn't the Mingyu who glares and pushes me around, who calls me short, ghost, and nerd, who acts like he's better than I am. This is closer to the Mingyu I knew before junior high, whose name ended up second from the top on my Valentine's Day shirt and who was the only somewhat friend I'd had as a kid who hadn't moved away. Suddenly he looks at me, and there's curiosity on his face now. "Why don't you tutor kids like this more often? You're smart, and you could make a lot of money doing it." I shrug.

"I've got other stuff to do. Not a lot, of course, just scholar bowl usually. I don't wanna spend all of my time telling other kids what they're doing wrong when I could be at home playing games and writing stupid stories that'll never see the light of day. I don't need anyone's money." I blink twice before realizing I just told Kim Mingyu of all people that I write stories.

"So you are rich? The rumors are true?" I scoff and laugh, shaking my head at the absurdity of the thought. I start laughing again when I look at his face, and it takes me a good few minutes to calm down again.

"Mingyu, you've been to my house. We live in a trailer that's almost as old as I am. I wear that shirt from fifth grade because it still fits and it's comfortable, and I have a pair of capris I've been wearing since I was like seven for the same reasons. I've been on free lunch and breakfast since forever. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, rich. That rumor only started because I don't really feel like doing work for other people, no matter how much they offer to pay me." Mingyu looks embarrassed and shamed, and I clear my throat after resting my chin in my hand. "You should've read this story in class, but you can read it again now if you need to. Let's start by discussing what you think its theme is." He nods and pulls the computer closer to him, clicking a few times before his brows set into a furrow that doesn't leave. He skims over the short story, mouthing words as he goes. Eventually, he pushes the computer away and sits back in his chair.

"I think it's like… about regretting mistakes or wishing you'd done something differently. In all the scenes, something happens and the main character does something, and ends up regretting that. Or, well-- I guess then it would be talking about how even if you go through life and keep doing things you come to regret, it's easy to fall into a pattern and keep doing the wrong thing. Like, you want to do differently, but you keep acting the same way and then start to hate yourself for it." He stares intensely at the table, and I skim over the short story. I recognize a lot of it from when I was a freshman, and I click my tongue at the realization that she hasn't changed the reading material at all.

"That's a great interpretation. I don't know what other ones you've gotten from it in past years, but I think that's pretty close to what I got from it," I tell him. He looks surprised. "Then again, I was questioning pretty much everything in my life and might have been projecting, but whatever. The theme that you're 'supposed' to get from this is that you shouldn't give up and should grow as a person. I don't think it quite fits, considering the main character keeps making what amounts to the same mistake in every situation, but that's what she wants. All you really have to do is alter your way of thinking about the story a bit and turn the points that made you think of regret into points about character growth." His mouth drops open and he pulls the computer closer; after a moment of brief thought, he begins to type quickly. I just sit and watch kids walk around the library and wonder what they'll do when they go home. Most of them will probably hang out with friends or something, while I'll just… go play Assassin's Creed on my Xbox until I get tired of it, and then I'll probably end up writing until one in the morning again.

"I uhm… I'm done. Sorry about the typos, I just, hm, tried my best," Mingyu says suddenly. I look at him and then at the computer he's pushed towards me, and I quickly pull it closer and begin to read. I can tell immediately what he means by "typos", because it's almost impossible to read. A lot of the letters are switched around, and some of the words have been replaced with completely different ones. I sit back with a sigh and glance at him.

"Why… why do you have trouble in English," I ask. He swallows thickly and looks away.

"You can't read it, can you," he asks quietly. I shake my head.

"I can read it, I just have to concentrate and think pretty hard. Why do you have so much trouble with spelling?" He bites his lip and plays with his fingers, staring at the table.

"I've got dyslexia. I asked for help in seventh grade, but after the first few people who complained that they couldn't read anything, I just stopped asking. There's not really much I can do to stop it, so…"

"Those people were just lazy and inconsiderate. It's not something you can change, so it's nothing to be mean about. I can fix all the spelling for you, but I'll probably ask you to clarify things or make sure I'm reading it correctly. Do you have any other assignments after this?" He shakes his head.

"I try to do everything I can as soon as possible, even if I do end up failing the assignments anyways," Mingyu says. After a moment, he speaks again. "I could read it to you, probably. Here, let me see." I push the computer back towards him, and he sighs after a moment. "Yeah, nevermind, the letters are all switching around again and I'm getting a headache."

"It's okay. We just have to work together to get this figured out. I don't mind having to stay a while; I said earlier that I basically do nothing." Mingyu suddenly looks very interested in _something_ , and I quickly begin going through his writing and correcting things.

"You said you write. What kind of stuff do you write," he asks. My fingers stall for a moment, and-- no, I can't tell him that I write a lot of stories that end up with warnings for violence and blood because I like writing about monsters too much.

"Uhm, nothing much. Just, like… fantasy, I guess." Monsters count as fantasy, probably, though perhaps vampires, sirens, and werewolves are more urban fantasy while the tree spirits and dragons would be in the more traditional fantasy genre. "It's, uhm, not very good, honestly. Like I said, I don't do anything with them anyways, so it doesn't matter." Mingyu doesn't press about it any further, just nods and watches me fix all the typos. I'm thankful that he doesn't ask about my writing past what he already had, because my parents were the type to always hound after answers, and I'd deleted more than one story simply because they asked about it and forced me to talk about it so much that I didn't have fun writing it anymore.

When I finish fixing his typos, he asks, "Is there anything else you think I should add?" I shake my head and push the computer towards him.

"You can add more if you want, but I think it's pretty good like this. You're a good writer, honestly. I think the biggest problem up 'til now has been that no one wanted to take the time to try to read what you'd written. Seeing this… I wish I'd been in your English hour, too. Wish a lot of things were different," I mutter. Mingyu glances at me as he submits the assignment and bites his lip again. He turns to me once he has his computer put into his bag and clasps his hands in his lap.

"Uhm, look… I'm sorry about the way I treat you when I'm with my friends. I've gotten used to it and kind of… forced myself not to care so much about how I treat other people? They just… they expect that from each other and from me at this point. It feels weird now to change the way I act with them. I should probably try, though…"

"It's okay. I understand, I think. I know what it's like to be perceived a certain way and to not know how to change that. I mean, everyone in the school thinks I'm rich, even someone who's been to my house… plus, I'm pretty sure at least half of you guys think I'm a stuck-up prick because I never accept bribes to do homework, from anyone. No one even asks for help anymore, even though I'd give it during class and stuff," I tell him.

"So, why are you tutoring me, then," Mingyu asks. There's something in his voice that I can't place.

"Because you asked me to. It sounds stupid, but you're honestly the closest thing I have to a friend at this point. Besides, you could consider it a thanks for giving me good memories as a kid and for protecting me from bullies during middle school."

"I think those are kind of cancelled out by now," he mutters. I shrug and stand up, putting my hands over my head and stretching.

"Ah, that feels good," I sigh as I drop my arms back down. Mingyu stares up at me, hand curled around his backpack where it now sits on the tabletop. "Oh, you don't have my number, do you? If you let me give it to you, you can just call me whenever you need help in any of your classes, even if it's something besides English." He hands me his phone, and I'm surprised to find that his home screen is a screenshot of Eren from Attack on Titan, except that it's Eren as a Titan. I glance at him and smile a bit as I type my number into his phone and save it under Jinho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always enjoy comments btw 👀


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! warning rn for mentions of blood, being hurt, rough language, rainstorms, hospitals, and stitches. and also like mean parents

Before I started tutoring Mingyu, I never once went to football games or watched them practice after school; now, though, I pick Gyu up after practice (but only after he's taken a quick shower in the locker room because football guys smell absolutely _terrible_ after practice), and we go to the public library to study. Mingyu tries to be fast and make it to my car unseen by his friends because he doesn't want them to "bully me on his behalf."

Today though, I park closer to the field, and I sit in the stands during their practice and watch. It's been getting colder and colder every day, and it's just begun to rain, so it feels even colder; hence, why my hands are pressed together between my knees. I'm not sure if they'll continue practice despite the rain or if it'll be called off halfway through because I've never been to a practice or a game. When they keep playing despite the rain--which steadily gets harder and colder as the wind begins to slant it sideways--I figure they must intend to keep playing.

Mingyu is number 13 (this isn't something he told me, but something I figured out on my own earlier on in practice), and the football gear makes his shoulders look extra broad, though weirdly rounded. I keep my eyes glued to him because I really don't care about how any of the other guys do, considering they're all certified assholes while Mingyu has changed: I've noticed in the past couple weeks that he doesn't say mean things to people, at least when I'm around, and I even saw him tell one of the other guys to "knock it off" after a particularly nasty comment towards a freshman girl.

Mingyu is _good_ at football. He catches everything and he's _really_ fast, surprisingly. I almost can't see the minuscule traces of that clumsiness that reminded me of a puppy in elementary and middle school; almost, because Mingyu suddenly slips on a muddy bit of ground and goes down. My first reaction is to go _help him_ , and so I frantically rush down the bleachers, keeping my eyes on the wet metal steps in an effort not to fall. A glance up shows that he's back on his feet and appears to be just fine, so I slide to stop with my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Sadly though, my shoes are so old that the tread is almost entirely worn off, and that sliding stop sends me tumbling down the bleachers.

"Shit! Jinho," someone shouts. With my ears ringing and my entire body throbbing, I can't tell who said it. Everything is so wet and cold, and my head hurts as I stare at the sky. The silhouette of someone enters my field of view, and lightning flashes; the person flinches, and with their larger frame blocking out the rain, I can feel the warm wetness on my face more clearly. *What is that?*

"Jinho, can you hear me? Blink twice if you can hear me!" _Huh_. There's a slight lisp to the person's speech. _Where do I know that from?_ It should be easy enough to blink twice, though, because I can hear whoever it is that's talking to me. Lightning flashes again and I blink twice, trying to clear the afterimage from my eyes. "Oh, thank god! Jinho, I'm gonna help you up in a second, just hold on, okay? You're gonna be fine!" The silhouette throws off bulky football gear, and-- _oh, it's Mingyu._ The taller boy picks me up with an arm under my knees and another behind my back, and he puts my arms around his neck before standing up. Everything hurts, but I can tell now, sort of, that my face hurts worse than anything else-- well, my right leg hurts a lot too, so maybe I shouldn't have worn shorts today.

"Gyu, what the fuck are you doing?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Jayden?"

"Why're you helping that fucking nerd? He was probably only here because he was stalking you or something." The other player sounds so stupidly full of himself that I can't help but let out a chuckle, but it quickly turns into a groan of pain.

"He's my fucking friend, Jayden, not a nerd! He's the reason I'm even able to still play, you piece of shit! Fuck off and get out of my way before I push you down the bleachers, I need to take him to the ER." I shiver and tighten my weak grip on Mingyu's shoulders because he sounds so _mean_ and _upset_ ; it's like for the first time, I'm hearing him genuinely hating someone, and I realize that he'd never spoken to me and sounded like this before, even when I brought up his English class anytime he tried to make fun of me. The other player doesn't say anything, and we're going down again after a few seconds.

"Mean…" I mutter. Mingyu tightens his grip on me and gently hoists me higher up.

"Where's your car, Jinho? Do you have your keys? I need to drive you to the ER," he says. I wonder how bad it is if he thinks I need to go to the hospital.

"Close…" I whisper. Thinking is hard because the pounding in my head and my leg seem to take up every ounce of processing power I've got. "Keys? Uhm…" I press my face into his chest and hope that I'm not messing up his shirt; I'd seen earlier that it was an Attack on Titan shirt, and I figure that maybe it's one of his favorites. "Shorts…" Mingyu lets out a sigh that sounds almost frustrated before making the cutest little sound of triumph.

"Found it! Wow, you really did park closer… okay, Jinho, I'm gonna set you down. Try not to move, and I'll try to be careful about getting your keys from your shorts, okay?" I nod only twice because moving my head gives me a headache, and Mingyu sets me down like I'm made of porcelain, which I actually appreciate. He very gently pats down the sides of my pants, and carefully retrieves my keys from the left pocket of my gym shorts. "Okay, stay right here, Jinho. Try to stay awake." I nod once more and find that my neck hurts too. The rain sounds so loud without Mingyu in front of me, but suddenly he's back and I'm in his arms again. Mingyu feels nice and warm, and I don't want to let go.

"Nice…" I murmur, slowly closing my eyes.

"No no no, Jinho, keep your eyes open, please!" Mingyu sounds so upset and frantic that I reopen my eyes just as slowly as I'd closed them and crane my neck back to look at him. "Uhm, shit, front or back… god, you're bleeding so much, uh-- Jinho, I'm so sorry, but you're definitely gonna get blood all over the front of your car."

"S'okay… washes out… le~mon 'n…" The front seat of my car isn't near as comfortable as Mingyu is, but the sudden vibration of the engine starting feels nice and relaxes me. I can barely pay attention to the lit-up road outside the windshield as I relax into the seat and stare at Mingyu.

"Y'know, Jinho, I'm not quite sure how accurate _Deadpool_ is," Mingyu says softly. I think he might be trying to joke with me.

"Mm… factu~al!" Mingyu laughs, but it doesn't sound like laughter for long. It sounds like crying. Mingyu sounds like he's crying, but before I can think of a way to get it to stop, the car is shut off and Mingyu has me in his arms again. It gets bright, and Mingyu's frantic voice calling for nurses to help rings in my ears. For the life of me, I can't stop the instinctive whine that crawls up my throat when I'm pulled away from Mingyu. The last thing I see is his tear-stained face and bloodied shirt. I realize two things in that brief moment before I close my eyes again: Mingyu really was crying in the car, and the bloodstains mesh with the design on his shirt and look like they were printed on.

* * *

  
I wake up with thick bandages all over my face, and my right leg feels like it's got something wrapped around it. I groan at the onset of pain, and someone to my right makes a noise of surprise. Someone has a gentle hold on my right hand, and I open my eyes to see that it's Mingyu. I try to furrow my eyebrows, but it hurts so much that I groan again and relax. I take a moment to breathe before opening my eyes again and looking at him. It feels nice in the room; it's dark and quiet, and the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

"Gyu… what happened?" The football player bites his lip and scoots closer.

"You uh, ran down the bleachers. I don't know why, though." He pauses and winces, and I half-remember thinking Mingyu was hurt when he slipped.

"You fell," I whisper into the open air of the silent hospital room. "I thought you were hurt, but then I saw you were okay and I stopped."

"Yeah," Mingyu agrees. "I saw the bottoms of your shoes when the nurses took you to be treated. There's like, absolutely *no* tread on them." I nod, and Mingyu grimaces. "Uhm, you had a concussion. It's been a couple of days, they wanted you to stay here for observation or something, since you also… kinda, split your leg open right along the shinbone. Also, your face got kinda cut up. They said that pretty much everything is gonna scar, and they had to use stitches on all but one cut. I'm-- god, I'm so fucking sorry I worried you and landed you in this hospital bed, Jinho."

"It ain't your fault, Gyu… I'm the one wearing worn-out shoes and running down wet stairs. I'm just… glad you weren't hurt.…" After a moment, I recall how Mingyu had spoken to that other football player. "You were… really serious when you said you'd, uh… fix your behavior," I murmur. I smile carefully. "Didn't think you had the guts to… talk to the other footballers… like that." Mingyu laughs, and this time it doesn't morph into crying. I think everything is going to be okay.

* * *

  
"Gyu~ the nurses say you need to come pick me up!"

"Jinho, you can't come back to school yet, you've still got black eyes and you aren't done healing."

"Gyuuuu," I whine into the phone. "It's so *boring* here! Come back so I can teach you again!"

"Jinho, you aren't tutoring me in this state. I'll be over in another hour, okay?"

" _humph!_ Fine then! I'll just be all alone in this big stupid hospital then!"

The wait is torture, especially after the pain meds wear off. I vaguely recall phoning Mingyu and asking him to pick me up, and it makes my cheeks and ears turn bright red. I mostly watch Bob Ross on the small TV in the hospital room to pass the time, finding a comforting distraction in the man's soothing voice and pretty paintings.

Out of nowhere, Mingyu appears in the doorway and startles me. He's smirking devilishly, and I frown at him.

"What," I demand. He giggles and walks in, setting his bag next to the chair he always sits in.

"Oh, nothing. Just the fact that you whined earlier and hung up very abruptly after getting upset I wouldn't get you. Aaaand the nurses said my 'boyfriend was waiting for me and talked about me a lot while I was gone'." I groan and shove my face into my hands, not caring whether I fuck up the bandages over my stitches or not.

"Okay, Mingyu, I don't care whether you think I should be out or not, it's already been almost a week, and I need out."

Needless to say, Mingyu helps get me signed out of the hospital.

* * *

  
"Hey, Jinho," Mingyu calls suddenly. I'd been doing homework while he was supposed to be writing something for an assignment.

"Yeah?" I keep writing and humming.

"Why didn't your parents visit while you were in the hospital?" I pause halfway through writing the distance formula and bite my lip. Most of the cuts on my face were healed by now, but the one on my leg still had a good while to go. I set the pencil down and sit back.

"My parents fight a lot," I whisper. "About me. I don't think they like me very much." I try to laugh, but it hurts too much, so I stop and clear my throat. "They don't really care what I do as long as they don't have to deal with the consequences." Mingyu doesn't say anything, just holds out his hand. I take it tentatively, and he smiles kindly at me. My heart thuds painfully in my chest.

Kids at school had come up with all kinds of rumors during my stay at the hospital, and most of them were something about me being either romantically or sexually involved with Mingyu. I ignored them. When I came back, covered in bandages and using either a crutch or Mingyu's arm to support myself, they came up with more, like that I had to be in a gang or something. Honestly, though, I couldn't care less what kids said about me. Mingyu had entirely stopped hanging out with the football guys, and we'd had our first high school sleepover (at his house) a few days ago. It felt good to have friends again, even if it was only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on twt @sunwooseok_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to finish ksjvb ekjbelbg but! is done. shitty ending apologies in advance.

_I'd been excited for weeks: my parents had finally helped me make a Valentine's box all my own instead of just buying me one like usual. It, admittedly, wasn't the best. It was going to be a cat, but then my parents got fed up with that, threw the box out, and just put red paper over a different one and let me cover it in glitter hearts after cutting the hole and walking away. Still, though, it was something that I had made! I just knew it was going to be the best Valentine's ever._

_I walked into class and put my bag in my cubby, carefully placing my box next to the others on the long table. When I sat back down, I couldn't help but stare at my box next to the others. It'd had tons of glitter on it, near the whole tub we'd had at my house. My name was on the front in pink glitter, and all the rest was shaped into awkward hearts. I couldn't help the disaster that was a ten year old and glue. Mingyu went straight to the table when he came in, reading the names on every box until he finally stopped in front of mine; I giggled to myself as he snuck a glance around him and scooted the other boxes over so he could put his next to mine. He'd carelessly shoved his bag in his cubby and skipped over with a big, stupid grin on his face that showed his pointy teeth._

_"Whaddya think we're gonna do today," he had asked excitedly as he flopped into the seat next to me. I'd shrugged in response, always unsure of what we'd do in class. Wooseok wandered over from some corner suddenly, bringing a bigger smile to my face. Mingyu huffed, and I shoved him playfully. "Oh, Jinho, d'you like my box?" I took a better look at the box he'd put next to mine and burst into laughter upon realizing he'd dropped his box, probably more than once. It was battered and a little dirty, the paper rumpled and a corner pressed in. Wooseok laughed too._

_"You're so clumsy, Gyu," I told him, still laughing. He'd only smiled sheepishly and shrugged. Wooseok suddenly pointed out a blurry green box; it turned out to be a frog with an umbrella. It was to be expected that the kid with the artist mother always had good boxes._

_"What about mine," he asked. I giggled again, smiling at both of them. They were always competing like this._

_"I like both your boxes, duh!" They grumbled, and Mingyu leaned forward._

_"Yeah, but whose is best?" His lisp came through a little stronger as he practically begged me to pick him with big, sad puppy eyes._

_I grinned widely before saying, "Mine, of course! I got to make it all myself this year!" The other two quietly nodded, agreeing with me. Before either could say anything, the teacher and the high schooler who helped in class started passing out big, white shirts and sharpies. The teacher calmly explained that this was one of our activities for the day: writing things we loved on our shirts._

_"Now, before you start class, remember to put the piece of cardboard that was folded into your shirt between the front and back so that-" Mingyu looked up sheepishly from where he'd been writing on his shirt, two words already misspelled. He hesitantly looked at the back and found evidence of what the teacher had been trying to avoid: the ink had bled through to the back of his shirt. He pouted at me as I laughed quietly, continuing to work on my shirt. I'd written that I loved my class and started listing the other kids. Naturally, Wooseok and Mingyu were at the top, the rest in whatever order I remembered their names in. Wooseok peeked over at me, but I hurriedly covered it so he couldn't see. Mingyu got a glance, though, and whined about the order._

_"How come Wooseok is before me? I thought you liked me more!" I was too embarrassed to tell him the truth, and just shrugged, playing it off as if I'd written whoever came to mind first. I swore to my teddy bear in fourth grade that I would never ruin our friendship by telling Wooseok I liked him. Of course, that was only a year ago. When we finished our shirts, the teacher encouraged us to put them on as the high schooler went through the boxes, putting things into them. Even she'd participated in our Valentine's party, wow!_

_Finally, after who knows how long of themed assignments and snack times, the teacher let us go and put cards into the boxes. I dug through my back for the cards I'd made, each one decorated with a glitter heart and a little message inside. I flipped them open one by one, putting them into the proper boxes. I tried to be as gentle as possible with Mingyu's and Wooseok's, hoping the glitter would stick. I threw my glitter-covered bag away and sat back down, waiting for everyone else to finish as I stared forlornly at my glitter-covered hands. It was going to be hard to wash off. When Mingyu and Wooseok finally finished as well and sat back down, I grinned widely and smeared the glitter over Mingyu's arm and Wooseok's face._

_"Now you're both super pretty," I exclaimed. Both of them turned red, but the teacher had just announced that all the boxes were filled, so I ran off and grabbed mine. I carefully stacked Mingyu's ribbon-covered, slightly squashed box and Wooseok's frog box on top of mine and brought them over, putting more glitter on their stuff. Neither of them said a word about it, immediately turning their boxes over and dumping all the cards and candy out. Most of my cards didn't have candy attached, but Wooseok and Mingyu had always given me little baggies of holiday-themed candy at these parties. I ignored most of the cards, generic little things that didn't say anything extra inside. I grabbed the one from Mingyu first and found the bag attached filled with the little heart-message candies. I couldn't help but smile at them._

"Do you remember the Valentine's party in fifth grade," I ask quietly. Mingyu hums, typing a few more sentences before looking over. 

"Yeah. I got mad that Wooseok was at the top of your shirt and I wasn't." I nod slowly, more tired than usual. I'd gotten distracted reading last night and accidentally stayed up until three. 

"Nn," I say softly. I pause for a while, just thinking to the track of Mingyu's fingers moving over the keyboard. I think back to Mingyu's and Wooseok's handmade cards and the heartfelt messages accompanying the candy bags. "I wonder where he ended up, what he's doing." Mingyu shrugs and pushes up his glasses. 

"He's probably fine. Guy like him, he's likely got plenty of good friends unlike us. We've only got each other left." Mingyu glances over, his usual smile nowhere to be seen as he becomes serious. It's a rare thing to see, but serious looks just as good on him as goofy does. 

"Well, we're hardly _just friends_ anymore but-"

"Hey, Jinho," someone calls. I look up and find one of the student council members walking in, followed by a tall silhouette. As they come closer, the dim lights in the library show more of the person. It's a boy, incredibly tall. His hair is shaved close to the skull, dyed a kind of minty green. Light flashes off the eyebrow piercing, the little metal balls of which sit above and below his left eyebrow. His eyebrows are still dark, undyed. He's got on an unnecessary amount of denim, but it doesn't look too bad on him. He looks vaguely familiar too. "This is a new student. He just transferred back, and I figured you could give him a tour of the high school." The council member glances at Mingyu, who keeps his eyes on the screen. "Mingyu could probably go, too."

"Transferred back? Why does he need to be shown around if he's transferred back," I ask quietly. 

"Ah, well I moved in seventh grade. I never ended up actually seeing the high school, so I don't know where anything is." His voice tugs at a vague memory, and Mingyu finally turns around. The new--old?--student looks at my shirt and, unexpectedly, his lips burst into an ecstatic grin. "Hey, you've still got the shirt!"

"It can't be," I mutter. 

"WOoseok?!" Mingyu's voice cracks, and he coughs to cover it up, his cheeks red with embarrassment. 

"Yup," the taller boy says enthusiastically, his lips still stretched wide. "I decided that I wanted to graduate here; I've really missed you all, and my dad got a nice job down here too, so it worked out. I'm glad to see that you two stayed friends!"

"Ah, well-"

"We're dating actually, but-" 

"Oh, sick," Wooseok shouts, fist-pumping after slapping Mingyu's back, cutting the football player off from speaking. "Knew you'd get there eventually, man, awesome work!" The stuco member leaves just in time for Mingyu to get guilty. 

"Okay, first, are you implying that Mingyu had a crush on me in fifth grade? And second..." In the end, it was confirmed that yes, Mingyu had a crush on me, and it was cleared up that Mingyu was a dick for a while before realizing his fuck-ups and falling in "like" with me again. 

"Well, I'm a bit peeved that you let yourself get pulled off track like that, but I am _so_ stoked that Jinho managed to pull you back on track. Hyunggu and Wonwoo are gonna be so excited to hear about this, I used to talk about you two so much to them!" He pauses at our confused looks, and his eyes get bigger. "I forgot you wouldn't know! Hyunggu and Wonwoo are my boyfriends! I hope we can all get together sometime soon so you two can meet them, you'd love them!" 

And so began the very long but quite enjoyable process of rebuilding my life again. And, yes, we did love Wooseok's boyfriends _and_ the rest of his friend group, all of whom effectively forced Gyu and I into a promise of lifelong friendship. But it was a good kind of forcing, the kind that came with concern and love and the best of intentions. 

Mingyu, of course, passed English with an A minus and helped the team win their season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun little headcanon: mingyu and jinho were gonna go into band together with wooseok, but after wooseok moved and mingyu migrated to jock land, jinho was the only one left and didn't wanna do it alone. mingyu quit and left it because he thought jinho was only joining for wooseok and thought that now that wooseok was gone, jinho wasn't gonna want to be friends w him anymore, which was part of why he tried to find new friends in the meatheads. and so little jinho was left all alone... don't worry! jinho and mingyu end up getting professional lessons some time in the future as a couple thing and learn to play instruments so that they can play songs together!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twt @sunwooseok_ if you wanna talk!!


End file.
